


Pequeño Pajarito

by ElizabethPacifica



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Birds, Gardening, Jack Sparrow - Freeform, Movie: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales, Post-Curse Armando Salazar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25536841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethPacifica/pseuds/ElizabethPacifica
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

It was in the middle of the garden. Well, not so much the exact middle as slightly to the right. Or left. Depending on your view. Anyway, they were surrounded by garden-y things. Tall sunflowers, green chives with their purple flowers in bloom, a few green pepper plants that grew higher than your knees. There was a brick paved path between the dirt and plants, in case you didn’t want to get your shoes muddy. Really though, who would mind? It’s a garden. The entire point is based on the high quality of the soil the roots found a home in. And rain. Which, if you looked up at the sky there was no mistaking. Blue for days and not a cloud. Mildly warm, as the sun had not reached its curve back down for the afternoon. It was important to get out and tend to the garden before 3pm. After that, intolerably warm. Humid too. There was no way to stay in the garden, surrounded by lush greenery, in that sort of humidity. Loose fitting clothing would get in the way and hats! A must. He brushed away a gnat, or a fly from his face. Might have been a bee - He heard buzzing over his left ear. 

The tomatoes. Ah, that was the vegetable he proudly leaned down to inspect. So many types! One for cooking, one for his little salads he placed in the middle of the table for each dinner. The bright orange ones, small yet sweet and next to them in a row that went for the length of the side of the garden, perfectly circular red tomatoes bigger than a man’s fist. He grabbed several vines that had begun to grow unruly out of their cages and tucked them neatly away. Brushing against the leaves emitted the smell of summer. A heady, earthy green, and he closed his eyes to imagine the taste combined with basil a dash of olive oil. Some cracked pepper. Perfect.

He stepped back and placed his hands on his hips and nodded in approval. It seemed that finally, finally!, he would enjoy a perfect growing season. No one could boast of their harvest now! _Ah those leaves_. He bent down again to rub several between his fingers. Lush and green and… yellow… with little black spots… No. Wait. That wasn’t right! He crouched down and dug with his fingers about an inch under the soil. It was perfect. Not too dry, not too wet. No matter. The leaves were quickly discarded and the plant was blemish free again.

And his hand rose to brush against the flesh of a single tomato. He couldn’t resist. Off the vine it came with a quick snap at the stem.

He weighed it in his palm and rubbed his thumb over the skin. Smooth and firm, like a … Never mind. The thought made him smile and he chuckled. Ah, again the smell of summer. He brought the tomato to just under his nose and inhaled deeply. He would relish this moment. A victory in unison with the forces of Mother Nature. A tiny seed now transformed and about to fill his mouth with the mysterious combination of acid and sweet juices.

He licked his lips.

And opened his eyes, his mouth in formation around the red skin.

No.

No.

He pulled back his hand and reached into the tomato with his fingers and pressed gently, just where the one inch hole was visible. Pierced and jagged skin, and the flesh eaten to the core.

No.

His lips closed and his mouth turned in a dark frown and his eyes flashed a spark of fire.

And on a wooden post, just a few feet away, sat a lovely plump creature bobbing up and down, twisting its curious head back and forth and balancing against the wind with its tail.

**_Sparrow._ **


	2. ‘And that is what I did!’

For three days the garden was finally… pure. No sparrow had been near his tomatoes. They were free from blemish, free from the bombardment of the Sparrow. He watered, he troweled. He threw off a small hornworm that made pinched eyes at him. Now why doesn’t the bird eat these!? Hornworms are fat and delicious to birds, eh?

_I will not allow that plump Pajarito any more of my tomatoes!_

Except.

He had not realized how tricky that sparrow was. Si, si! Let his guard down. Let him think the little bird had migrated. Only it hadn’t, had it?

It was there: He heard it. The rustling of wings. Not just of one bird, but of two. Then three. Then – he looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun. FIVE! Five pajaritos chirping and mocking him from their perched place in the apple tree.

But he was a patient man. And patient men come up with plans. So he planned to lure that sparrow, oh yes, the one sitting at the very top of the tree. That was him! Tomorrow, he nodded. Tomorrow we would be begin a game.

Chirp! Churp? Chip Chip! Trrrriiil

Early, it was too early even for him, before sunrise he huddled in behind his tomato plants first inspecting the ground for little bird footprints or a stray downy feather. Nothing. Bien. Crouched down and resting on his heels he sat, peaking every few minutes through the vines, the tiny trail of little seeds all lined up in a perfect row started from the bottom of the apple tree and along the pathway finally terminating at his feet.

Ah, there we are! It hopped to the ground. It zigged and zagged along the line of seeds, inspecting each one before filling its beak and proudly crunching down on the seeds. Hop and crunch, back and forth, tantalizingly closer. For a moment the sparrow stopped and preened his feathers. Perhaps he was full. Had he left too many seeds? No! Pequeño Pajarito was greedy and vain.

And ate

Them all.

And when he had reached the end of the bird seed line the sparrow stopped, wiggled his tail and looked around. That is correct, turn your back to the tomatoes. _There’s no where to hide! I’ve come with the bird food bill!_

He threw his hand out along the ground and under the green vines and the rusting leaves hit him in the face but he didn’t care he closed his hand so rapidly he must have caught the Sparrow! Yes! He squeezed his fingers around smooth object and could feel the life leaving the…

He mumbled something I dare not repeat.

The smoothness he felt? The liquid dripping between those brawny fingers? A green tomato. One that hadn’t even been given the chance to ripen on the vine.

He looked down again at the tomato in his hand, and back up to the bird that had escaped. 

_You made me do this_ _Pequeño Pajarito. Eh!? You shall regret the day you have dared invade my garden!_

And so our Salazar began a series of traps, inventions, rigging across the vines that would make La Maria proud. This time he would have to be clever. Well, more clever than he normally is. Capitán is clever no? Of course. The most clever. The box was raised just enough, and balanced perfectly on a little stick. Attached to the stick a small white thread and attached to that – the gardener. Under the box, oh how he hated to do it, he sacrificed a perfect, small, orange tomato right in the center. No one – no bird – could resist.

  
Parjarito, it is a very good thing he was so greedy. He chirped and fluffed and scared away all the other birds. That orange was tempting. His winged shoulders raised and fell in rapid succession. Salazar didn’t move. He didn’t dare breathe. This trap, there was no way out. It was going to work.

BAM!

The box closed in on top of the sparrow and the little frightened thing jumped up and down against the sides and the top. Thought you could get away? Salazar was careful. He reached his hand under the box. Slowly. First only the tips. Of his fingers. Then, steadily and straight, his entire hand entered. The box. Only to jerk back! Sparrow had pecked at the top of his hand! This did not deter our gardener. No. Rather, he found the sensation invigorating. And dared the bird to do the same action again. His fingers again entered under the box. Little bird feet, and he knew it. He blindly felt around and this time oh he had caught the sparrow!

  
A victorious grin lit his face.   
He lifted the box, gently, and held tight to the bird, bringing it – very much captured, into the daylight.

Until it pecked again at his hands and his fingers relentlessly!

And it flew off.

The next day he would have to be pragmatic. He would have to listen to his friend. A better gardener? No! Though he would admit his friend had inventive ideas and now an even tan from all the days he spent in his own farm. Very well. He filled his hand with the plump raisins. Plump raisins for a plump Pajarito.

But these were a special treat. He cupped his full hand and brought the dried grapes to his nose. There was no mistaking the scent. Rum. Rum soaked raisins.

Alright, he slightly admitted his friend might be mad. He had to trust him – like so many times before he was the one with the cooler head. Not as good looking of a face, what with all that curly hair, but a calmer mind.

This time, he would wait in the open. No tricks, no games. Just a pile of irresistible rum soaked raisins, a comfortable bench with exactly four pillows and a book to read. He would wait.

It didn’t take long for Pequeño Pajarito to set his haughty feathers on the table next to the treats. It pecked at one, and looked at our gardener before flying off. Who, only moving his eyes, watched and studied his foe winging through the sky. Twice more the feathered ball sat beside him and he remained still, glaring his eyes just over the pages of his book. What was that bird doing? Taunting him? The sparrow rolled a raisin over out of the pile and pecked once. Then rolled it closer to his seated enemy as if… to offer it to him? What, must I show this Pajarito what to do? So he did. He put a rum raisin in his mouth and bit down on it between his front teeth. Then chewed very quickly. Not too terrible.

Again the bird sat. The two of them sat, a strange pair looking at the horizon. He was beginning to think his friend was playing a trick, trying to get back at him for that time in San Domingo when… No. He would try again with the raisin. They were like looking through a deep glass of wine. Shiny and full of – why wasn’t this bird taking the raisins?! 

He filled his hand with the treats and chewed a mouthful. And the bird followed! Finally. What a trial just to catch a bird brain. The sparrow tore into the first raisin and gobbled it up. Then stopped.

Salazar popped another raisin in his mouth and ate it. So did the bird.

Back and forth this continued, and no one remembered how long. The only mark of time was the lack of raisins and the setting sun.

He was tempted to talk to his foe. Indeed he put the book down on the bench with a tremendous thud yet – the bird didn’t fly away. It sat, plump even more if that was possible, filled to the limit with rum soaked raisins and happy to stay in that spot for the night. If birds could smile, Salazar assumed this one was. HE was anyway. Smiling. He whistled. A short call. The bird chirped back. He _was_ talking to the bird! 

Alright. Now. Listen here.

Pajarito didn’t move. It closed its eyes in delight.

And that was it! The moment he waited for! He grabbed the bird by the body and held it’s feet in his hands. This time the plump Pajarito did not peck or move, quite content in his inebriated state.

“You will pay, Sparrow. I will make you sing in a gilded cage for a peso until you have paid for what you have done.”

He brought the bird directly to his face. Eye to eye. Beak to beak. “To my tomatoes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fully admit this is ridiculous. Hope you enjoy and it makes you smile!

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt: "Birds had infected the gardens for generations. Taking the tomatoes of my father and his father before. So I vowed to end this plague once and for all"


End file.
